This Messiah Needs Saving
by piper maru duchovny
Summary: Just a lost little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would. Emma Swan's a victim of the system until David Nolan sweeps in like a white knight and saves the little girl from a dismal existence. - Daddy!Charming and young!Emma AU, eventual Snowing and possibly other ships.
1. Chapter 1

**So I know that very similar ideas to this have been done before but I promise to try to make this as unique as possible. Just had to write this because I am a super big sucker for Daddy!Charming and little!Emma fics. Also... Yes, some (hopefully most) of you will recognize Emma's case worker but I promise this is not a crossover but rather just a nod to my favorite children's book and movie. **

**Disclaimer: If it was mine there would be a lot more Charming family, a lot more angst, and way less other characters. **

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_"Just a lost little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would." -Emma Swan (3x02, Lost Girl)_

_"Alone, listless, a breakfast table in an otherwise empty room,  
Young girl, violence, center of her own attention..."  
-Pearl Jam's Daughter;_

* * *

Emma Swan doesn't cry. Left arm cradled to her chest, a ratty old long sleeved shirt covering the worst of the damage, she is careful to be noiseless as she pulls out a box of stale cereal and pours some into the cleanest bowl she can find in the sink before sitting on the kitchen floor to eat the dried out semisweet circles. The milk in the fridge calls her name but she knows if she were to take some that it would be too noticeable and she would be punished for taking more than her fair share (which most days equated to none). Her blond curls fall across her face as she sucks at the cereal, making sure not to crunch for fear of making too much noise, and she is blatantly aware of the fact that she needs a bath and if she isn't careful the school nurse is going to notice and tell her case worker that she's coming to school unclean. Her arm pulsates under her shirt and she knows there's something wrong with it, something drastically wrong, but she can't tell – it will only be worse if she tells.

She can't go to another home, she won't. She's only eight and the number of houses she has been in has already reached the double digits. Her ninth birthday is only weeks away and another house, another birthday... She's too old, too much trouble, and another mark on her case is another mark against her chances of ever getting adopted.

At a quarter until seven, she places her empty bowl carefully in the sink and tucks the box of stale cereal back into the cupboard before she shoulders her book bag and slips out the door to head toward school. Fall is setting into Maine and the sun is just starting to make the sky purple as Emma trudges down the street toward her school. Emma loves school – no matter what town she was in, no matter how many places she was sent to, at least school hardly changes between each place. The doors are unlocked when she reaches the building and she carefully slips inside and makes her way to the library where the old librarian sits at her desk, quietly flipping through a book before she has to go greet the children who came by bus. Emma offers her a small smile and a little wave. The old woman smiles back at the third grader. "Hello Emma."

"Hi," she whispers. "Anything new come in?"

"Not this week," the woman tells her as she removes her glasses and looks at the girl. "Emma, are you alright?"

"Yeah," she replies quietly with a shrug as she casts her gaze to the floor, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. "I'm going to go read."

"Alright, dear." The librarian dismisses her with a small wave but Emma feels her eyes on her until she ducks behind the tall stacks of books.

She wanders aimlessly, her fingers running over the spines of the dusty tomes before she finds one that strikes her fancy. The children in her grade aren't technically allowed into that portion of the library as it's reserved for the two older grades who were less likely to destroy the fancier books but the librarian makes an exception for the veracious reader that is Emma Swan. The book is heavy and she has to take all the weight on her right arm as she makes her way to the back of the library where a series of risers built into the wall were; Emma climbs the steps to the very top and drops her book bag on the riser below her before squeezing herself as far back in the corner as possible, propping the book against the crux of her thighs as she cracks the spine.

Emma Swan is good at making herself invisible. She flies under the radar as often as she's permitted, hiding behind books and careful words and, far too often, silence.

The eight year old reads until the bell rings and she can hear the raucous thunder of children in the hallway as they make their way to the classrooms. She finds her way to the front of the library and checks out the book with little fanfare, tucking it into her bag and making her way to her classroom after the halls have mostly emptied. She settles into her desk just before the second bell rings and tucks her arm between her seat and the desk, praying that the teacher won't notice.

Hours later, after practicing cursive and times tables and reading aloud, when the class breaks for lunch, Emma is pulled out of line by her teacher and given a hall pass to make her way down to the nurse. Emma's stomach churns as she makes her way down the hall toward the front offices where the nurse's glorified closet turned clinic sits; she doesn't want to change houses again and she desperately wants to go to lunch – her one guaranteed full meal.

Miss Kissinger, the nurse, is a kindly old woman with dark hair and wire rim glasses that she peers over as she takes in the sight of Emma Swan. At eight years old, the blond is all lanky limbs and a sallow stomach clad in ill-fitting clothes with limp greasy curls that fall in her face no matter how many times she tucks them behind her ear – among a class full of well dressed and well taken care of eight and nine year olds, Emma stands out like a sore thumb. "Emma," the woman addresses her. "I'm sure you're hungry and I'll let you get to lunch in a few minutes but first we need to have a discussion."

"I'll take a shower tonight," Emma interrupts. "Please, Miss Kissinger. We've been busy this week and I haven't had time but I promise I'll shower. Don't call my case worker."

"Emma," the nurse sighs. "Honey. This isn't about your hair or how you smell, sweetheart. Some teachers are worried about your arm, dear, and why you're holding it like that."

"I slept on it funny," she lies while looking at the floor, twisting the toe of her holey gym shoes into the floor. The lights of the office flicker and Emma feels tingles all the way down to her fingertips as she tries to avoid the concerned gaze of the school nurse.

"Let me see your arm," the nurse orders her gently.

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes before yanking up the sleeve of her shirt and biting her tongue in order to not hiss at the pain. Vibrant purple marks in the perfect shape of a grasping hand litter her arm but perhaps the most concerning fact of all is the bone that's just ever so slightly out of place, evident by the slightly offset angle of the adolescent's arm. "It's no big deal," Emma tells the nurse, lying as bred into her as breathing. "I was falling and my foster dad caught me."

"Emma," the nurse hisses her name as she carefully reaches out to inspect the offended limb. "You're lying."

"Please," Emma pleads as her lower lip starts to tremble. She doesn't cry. She won't cry. "Please, Miss Kissinger. I can't be sent back again. I'm almost nine and I'm already on house number twelve. I can't move again. Please. I'll be sent to a group home if there's no homes with rooms. No one will adopt me if I get sent back again. Please. Please. Don't call my case worker."

"Oh sweetheart," Miss Kissinger sighs heavily, the kind of sigh that's thick with sorrow and pity – the kind Emma hates. "I have to, Emma. We need to take you to the hospital, sweetheart. Your arm is broken – I'm sure of it. And that man... He can't be allowed to hurt you. You can't go home with him. I can't allow it."

That is the straw that breaks the camel's back. The third grader crumples to the ground by the nurse's desk and pulls her legs up to her chest as she sobs silently, years of abuse and mistreatment having taught her how to cry without making a sound. Miss Kissinger looks at her forlornly before turning to make the necessary calls – knowing that eight year old Emma Swan probably hates her but it's for the better.

–

David Nolan is hard at work scrubbing down the kennels while the dogs are getting their daily reprieve in the fenced in yard outside when the desk phone rings; he listens halfheartedly as he scrubs at the floor, hearing the secretary make pleasantries before his name is mentioned and he quirks an eyebrow. He's called over and he drops the mop in the bucket of dirty water as he makes his way out of the kennel and over to the phone hanging on the wall, picking up the line the secretary had indicated. "Storybrooke Animal Rescue – this is David Nolan speaking."

"Mister Nolan, it's Matilda Honey with the Department of Children and Family Services." His heartbeat skitters when he realizes that it's the case worker who had came and did a home study three months prior when he had signed on to be a foster parent. "Mister Nolan, I've got a case that's kind of a special one and I think you might be the right fit."

"Sure," he says without question. He's read all the information, he knows the horrors that foster children can be put through.

"I know it's you first placement," the woman tells him. "Normally I don't give first timers a tough one out of the gate but... Emma... I think you and Emma might be a good fit."

"Emma," he breathes the name and it sounds familiar on his tongue. He'd signed on to be a foster parent after his divorce to Kathryn had been finalized for a year – his life felt empty and he had always wanted a child, there was no guarantee that he would ever have a nuclear family and he was in the position to provide a stable life for a child in need so he had signed the papers without hesitation. "When are you bringing her?"

"Here's the thing," Miss Honey explains. "Emma's currently in the hospital – she had to have surgery to fix a broken arm. I'll explain that in further detail when you get here. But they're not going to release her until tomorrow so I thought if you could get to Augusta tonight then I could brief you on the case and you could meet Emma and if all goes well she'll go home with you tomorrow."

"Sure," he tells her. "I'm off work in twenty minutes. I can be in Augusta by seven."

"That would be perfect," she tells him. "We're in the pediatric ward of Augusta General. It's on the second floor – room two-seventy-one."

"Got it," David promises her. "I'll be there as soon as possible, Miss Honey."

"Matilda, Mister Nolan," she instructs. "Miss Honey is my mother. Emma and I will await your arrival."

David rushes through the last of his work and manages to clock out ten minutes early – the office staff chuckling at his giddiness as he races out to his truck. He stops by his house for a lightning quick shower and to pack an overnight bag, snagging the stuff teddy bear from the spare bedroom that he'd bought when he signed the papers as he darted out the door. The teddy bear rides shotgun in his truck as he makes his way to Augusta and his mind wanders as he contemplates what little Emma might be like and just how her arm had gotten broken. If the case worker was calling from the hospital for a brand new placement then whatever had landed Emma Swan in the hospital could not have possibly been a good thing.

He parks far out in the lot as to not take any crucial parking spots but can't stop himself from practically racing into the hospital – going for the stairs instead of the elevator as he races toward the second floor. The room is easy enough to find and Matilda Honey stands in the doorway talking on a cellular phone with her arms crossed as he approaches and gives her a small wave that she returns with a smile. Pausing a few feet away to give her privacy, the teddy bear dangling from his fingertips, he waits for her to finish the phone call and when she does she chuckles at the sight of him. "Mister Nolan, let's talk for a second."

"Sure," he agrees and follows her a few feet down the hall into a small alcove housing a water dispenser and cups that the nurses must dole out.

"I just got off the phone with my superiors," she tells him. "They okayed my placing Emma with you but Emma's not a typical case – we try to find long term situations for as many fosters as we can, you know? But Emma's had a string of bad luck. She's eight years old – nine on the twenty-second of October and yours will be her thirteenth placement."

"Thirteenth," David repeats with an eyebrow raised. How could such a young child go through so many homes?

"Emma was an orphan case," she explains. "She was found abandoned on the roadside when she was just a few hours old. At six months, she was placed with the Swans and they were adoption tracked until they found themselves pregnant and without the funds to care for two children. When Emma was three she was placed back in the system. In the past almost six years that I've been handling Emma's case... It's never been her fault, Mister Nolan. She's a good girl but she's seemed to be placed with all the worst people or the most crowded homes unable to take her for very long."

"How did she break her arm," he asks quietly but he fears he knows the answer.

"Emma was removed from the custody of her foster father yesterday during school hours," Matilda Honey explains. "She was found with a broken arm and bruises in the shape of hand prints by her school nurse. Upon further examination we found further evidence of physical abuse." The woman sighs and David sees the weariness radiating off her. "Mister Nolan... I am good at my job, sir. Emma's the one case that I've never been able to place perfectly so I'm asking you to prove me right. She's a good little girl and she deserves a good home. She had a breakdown when the nurse called me yesterday – terrified that being placed in another home at her age meant that she would never be adopted. Obviously I'm not asking you to adopt her but... She needs a good home, David."

"I can do that for her," he swears. And he means it. Tears have pooled under David Nolan's eyes and his heart is absolutely shattered for this girl that he hasn't even met yet but swears he loves already – this little girl who has been perpetually screwed by the system. "Can I meet her?"

"Of course."

–

Emma sits upright in the bed with her arm in a sling – there's no cast yet, the doctors said they'd put one on tomorrow and she could pick the color. She has a book propped on her knees and she hunches over, turning the pages as quickly as she can read them. Her case worker bought it for her after she came out of surgery and promised her it was a good one – Miss Honey liked reading as much as Emma did and the only good part about moving homes was that the woman often brought the child some new books to keep her mind occupied until she settled into the new place. She had promised Emma that there was a new foster parent coming right away and she swore up and down that this was a good one but Emma knew what that meant, overcrowded and a short stay because the good ones never lasted.

"Hey bookworm," the case worker teases as she opens the door the room. A man steps in behind her and he gives Emma a warm smile as she eyes him skeptically. "Emma Swan, this is David Nolan. David, this is Emma."

"Hi," she breathes as she closes the book around her finger so she doesn't lose her place.

The man with hair just a little darker than hers, bright blue eyes, and a weirdly familiar smile steps over to her bedside and takes a seat on the stool the doctor left when he checked her arm. "Hi Emma. How are you feeling?"

"Not so bad," she tells him with a shrug. "Miss Honey said the doctors gave me the good stuff – whatever that means. It makes my head all fuzzy and slows down my reading but nothing hurts."

David gives her a grin at her rambling words before holding out a teddy bear to her. "This is for you – unless you're too big for stuffed animals."

"No," she promises and pulls the bear from his hand with her good arm, clutching it to her chest. "But it's really mine?"

"Yeah, kid," he promises and she knows he's telling the truth, can feel it down to her bones. "All yours."

"Thank you," she breathes. She hasn't had a new toy that was all hers in forever – she usually had to share or she got stuck with rejects from the Goodwill bin but this was all hers and as she nuzzled the soft fur she could smell how brand new it was. "How many other kids do you got?"

"None," he tells her. "You're my first placement."

She darts her eyes to her case worker. "I ain't his training wheels."

"Emma," Matilda sighs her name in that exasperated way that she usually tries to hide. "Mister Nolan is a good man, I promise. And you're not his 'training wheels'." She approaches the opposite bedside and pushes the blond hair back from Emma's face. "Emma, this could be a really good home for you if you let it be. So... You can go with Mister Nolan and be the only kid in a really nice home or I could take you to the group home."

"I'll go with Mister Nolan," she relents.

He chuckles. "You can call me David, Emma."

"Okay," she whispers and hides a yawn into her bear. "I'm reading _Swiss Family Robinson_ – have you read it?"

"Isn't that a little advanced for an eight year old," he asks.

"Emma's a very advanced reader," the caseworker explains.

He nods. "Yes, Emma. I've read it but I think I was in high school – not third grade when I did."

"Will you read to me," she asks – her voice barely above a whisper. "The medicine is making me sleepy and it's hard to focus on all the words."

"Plus you lost your reading glasses," Matilda rats on her.

"And that," Emma agrees.

David chuckles and plucks the book from her lap. "Of course I will read to you. After we go home tomorrow, we'll have to make a trip to the library and get you set up with a card so you can get some new material."

"I get my cast tomorrow," Emma mumbles sleepily. "Do you like green?"

"I love green," he tells her.

The blond haired child smiles. "I'm getting a green cast."

"What are you going to name your bear," he asks. Emma Swan is fascinating; she's obviously exhausted but fighting the pull of sleep hard as she snuggles with the bear and keeps talking.

"Nip," Emma tells him; she was referring to the monkey the Robinson family had adopted in the book. "I'll name him Nip."

"I like it," David told her and then he began to read.

It didn't take long for Emma to drift off to sleep with Nip tucked under her good arm as the pain medication delivered by the IV filtered through her veins. David closes the book and tucks it in beside Emma in the bed so she could find it easily if she woke then he brushes the hair back from her face before bringing the bed sheet up as much as her angle would allow. Matilda watches him with a hawk eye before once again intruding upon the moment. "Don't expect it to go this smoothly once the medicine wears off," she warns him. "Emma's a good girl but she's been through hell, Mister Nolan, and it won't always be this easy to take care of her. She's stubborn as an ox and the most contrary eight year old that I've ever met – she'll push your buttons."

"That's okay," David promises without his eyes wandering from Emma. "I'm ready for anything she can throw at me."

"You really are," the case worker sighs. "I'm going to have you sign some papers and then I'll get out of here for the evening. You're welcome to stay with Emma – I'll have one of the nurses bring you a wristband once we've got everything squared away. I'll come tomorrow morning before they release her to help ease the transition but then you'll be good to go. I'll come check on her in Storybrooke in a few weeks unless you deem it necessary to call me before then. After that... We'll work out a schedule for follow ups but unless something else pops up that'll be about it. Welcome to life as a foster parent, Mister Nolan."

He looks at Emma Swan and then her case worker with a smile. "Show me where to sign."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. I was not expecting this kind of reaction to this story at all. Thank you all so much for your kind words. To answer a specific question I received, this story takes place in the early to mid 90s, that's about as much as I can narrow it down at the moment. And to answer one more, yes, this is working within the framework of the curse so David and MMB are both Emma's biological parents and we'll see how David was able to leave Storybrooke to collect Emma later in the story, I promise. Thank you again! Your reviews mean the world to me. **

**Apologies for any mistakes, I'm currently battling a nasty case of bronchitis so I might have missed a few things. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours. Definitely A&amp;E's. **

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_"And when you feel no saving grace,  
Well I'm on my way, on my way,  
And when you're bound to second place,  
Well I'm on my way, on my way,  
So don't believe it's all in vain,  
Cause I'm on my way, on my way,  
The light at the end is worth the pain,  
Cause I'm on my way, on my way...  
-Boyce Avenue's "On My Way"_

* * *

Sunday morning dawns on Augusta, Maine to find David Nolan stretched out as much as his large frame can be on the small couch in Emma Swan's hospital room. The eight year old is already awake and ignoring the pain in her arm for the sake of one more chapter in the book she's reading but then the book slips on her lap and collides with the broken arm that is in a sling across her chest which causes her let out a startled and painful yelp. David is awake in an instant and he scrambles across the room as quickly as he can with the blankets the nurse gave him tangling around his legs. "Emma," he asks. "Are you okay?"

"My book slipped," she explains quietly. "It bumped my arm."

"Ouch," he sympathizes and reaches out to rub the tears from her cheek. "I'm gonna page the nurse, okay? They can bring you something for the pain and maybe we can see about getting some breakfast. How long have you been awake?"

"An hour or two," she tells him with a quavering voice. "David... Are you really going to keep me?"

"For as long as I possibly can," he promises. "We'll see how it plays out, okay? But for as long as they'll let me keep you, you'll have a home."

"Thank you," Emma whispers. So many adults have lied to the little girl and she's not sure when but at some point she's built up a really good interior lie detector. David's not lying. She believes him all the way down to her bones and deep in the pit of her belly that he'll keep her for as long as the system lets him which is something Emma Swan has never had before in her life. Still, she can't totally trust the moment. "You're sure? You're not going to have a real kid and send me back?"

"I'm sure," he tells her and before he has a chance to stop himself he leans forward and kisses her brow lightly, not offended when she shudders and pulls back from the touch. "Emma, you're my first foster kid so I'm not sure how this is going to play out but I promise you that you're my priority and I'll be your family for as long as they'll let me keep you. You're going to be safe with me."

Emma nods. "Can you call the nurse now? My arm really hurts."

"Sure." David presses the button for the nurse and then pulls a chair over to sit by Emma's bed. "You've practically got this book done, Emma."

"I liked it," she protests, a bit of pink coloring her cheeks. "I'm on the last chapter. Could you read it to me?"

"Of course."

Just as he closes the book, a nurse with a pretty smile and long red hair steps into the room to greet them. "Hello Emma. I hear you're going home today. Are you excited?"

Emma glances at David before she answers the nurse. "Yeah. I am."

"She bumped her arm and she's having some pain," David jumps in. "Can she have anything?"

The nurse pulls her chart from the foot of the bed and flips it open to check the doctor's notes. "Looks like we're switching you to oral medication so that you can go home later without that pesky IV so I'll have to go pull some medicine. Maybe your daddy can order you some breakfast while I do that because this medicine might make your tummy feel icky. I'll be right back."

"He's not..." Emma trails off, the nurse is already gone. She turns her gaze to David. "Cereal, please."

"Just cereal," he asks as he plucks the menu off the bedside stand, glancing over the directions about how to call and place an order. "You haven't ate since before I got here last night. I'm sure you have to be starving, Emma. You can have more than cereal."

"Cereal and water," Emma tells him. "It's all I'm allowed to have."

"Allowed? Emma... Do you have an allergy or something," he asks but Matilda surely would have mentioned something if Emma had some severe food allergy he needed to be aware of.

Emma shakes her head and busies herself with the ears on Nip, the teddy bear. "Mr Kassem, my other foster daddy... He told me it's greedy to take more. I'm only allowed to have cereal and water. And I must be quiet."

David feels his blood boil as he watches Emma curl into herself – if he wasn't aware that the man was already in jail, he would track him down and put him in the morgue. Instead, he takes a steadying breath and gives Emma a small reassuring smile. "Hey kid, look at me for a second," he directs. "Emma, Mr Kassem was a very bad man. Miss Honey told me about how he hurt you – how he broke your arm. He's a bad man and he was a liar. You're a good girl – a very good girl, not greedy in the least. I've heard nothing but amazing things about you. And you can have whatever you want for breakfast. You never have to have cereal and water for breakfast ever again."

She looks at him for a moment, her gaze long and piercing, before she reaches out for the menu that he readily hands over. It takes her several long minutes to decide before she makes a decision. "Eggs and biscuits and gravy with hot chocolate. Please."

"That sounds delicious," David tells her as he takes the menu back and notes the option for him order as well marked on the back of the menu. "I think I'm going to have the same thing but with coffee."

"Coffee is so gross, David," she tells him with a giggle.

He gasps playfully as he tosses the menu to the side and grabs the phone to make the order. "You're a little kid – you have to think coffee is gross."

"Because it is," she protests.

He laughs. "If I order cocoa will you stop telling me coffee is gross?"

"For now."

"Fair enough."

Once their order is placed, he angles his chair so he's parallel to her and hands her the remote to the small TV in the room. She looks at him hesitantly for a few moments, as if this is another luxury she was never allowed, before quickly grabbing up the remote and making haste for the cartoons on the children networks – she flips back and forth between several options before settling on one about a pack of babies that get up to no good that gives David a small headache but it's a small price to pay when he hears Emma Swan giggle. He watches her out of the corner of his eye and smiles as she sits wide eyed, legs crossed on the bed, with Nip perched on her lap as she watches through fit after fit of giggles and he thinks it might be the best sound that he has ever heard.

Miss Honey and the nurse arrive at the same time as their breakfasts and Emma shuts off the TV without complaint as she's given medicine to dull the throbbing in her arm before she's allowed to dive into her breakfast. David watches her eat ravenously for a moment and he hopes that the rich food doesn't make Emma sick – making a mental note to mention Emma's food issues to the case worker and possibly the doctor before they leave. Matilda Honey sits on he other side of the bed and quizzes Emma on the book that she was given before reaching into her bag to pull out another for the little girl that makes David quirk an eyebrow. "Emma always flies through the books I bring her," she explains as she hands it over. "I think you'll like this one a lot, Em."

"Thank you, Miss Honey," the child breathes as she runs her fingers over the cover of Gene Stratton Porter's _Girl of the Limberlost_. The book is so thick that Emma can't even hold it properly with one hand but she manages to get her right arm underneath it and pulls it to her chest so she can lower her nose and breathe in the scent of the yellowing pages of the old book that her case worker had bought her.

Miss Honey smiles and brushes the hair back from Emma's face. "You're quite welcome, Miss Swan." She takes a sip of coffee as her eyes flit between the pair that seem to be taking to each other like ducks to water. "After the doctor casts your arm, you'll head home to Storybrooke with Mr Nolan and I'll come to check on you in about two weeks, okay?"

"I know the drill," Emma tells her with a sigh.

"I know you do and you have my number in case you need me before then." Matilda hazards a look at David Nolan and how he hasn't taken his eyes of Emma and she doubts she'll be getting an emergency call from Emma anytime soon.

When Emma and David's breakfasts have been cleared away and the medication has had time to seep into the little girl's system, the doctor comes in with a special plastering kit and begins to plaster the little girl's arm as he gives the foster father specific care instructions. He asks Emma what color she wants her cast wrapped in and she reiterates her desire from the previous evening – she wants green and no other color will do. The only green that the hospital carries for cast wrapping is an obnoxiously bright green that the eight year old honestly thinks is the coolest thing she's ever seen and the doctor leaves them with a laugh and smile, promising a nurse will be by shortly with their discharge instructions and they're free to go.

Matilda pulls one last prize for Emma out of her bag – it's two sets of newer clothing, still worn from a donation pile at the office, but appropriately sized for the little girl who had outgrown her previous clothing. It wasn't much but it would do until David Nolan got the first stipend for the girl and could add to her wardrobe. She then steps out in the hall to make a few calls, promising to say goodbye before she left for real.

"Do you need help getting dressed," he asks and glances at the clothes for Emma that have so many buttons.

Emma nods as she swings her legs over the bed, grateful the nurse removed her IV when she gave her medicine with her breakfast – it was hard enough to maneuver around the cast. She pulls out a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt with big sleeves that look like she can get them around her cast. "These ones."

"I like your style," he tells her with a grin that makes her roll her eyes. Kneeling down, he helps her slide the jeans on underneath the hospital gown and then fastens them as she pulls off the gown and slides her arms into the plaid shirt. He then does up the buttons and tweaks Emma's nose with a grin before pulling her long blond hair out from underneath the collar. "Would you like me to braid it?"

"You can do that," Emma asks with a quirked eyebrow eerily familiar to his own.

"Of course I can," he tells her and rounds the bed to get to work. He stars a brad just below the crown of her hair and makes quick work of it. "I grew up on a farm, you see, and I would often braid the manes of my horses in order to keep the hair from getting all matted."

"That's cool. I've always wanted to ride horses."

"Storybrooke has stables," he tells the girl as he knots the end of her hair together, the braid falling more than halfway down her back. "We'll see about going to ride after your arm is healed up."

"Cool!"

"I'm going to go change myself and then we'll see about those discharge papers," he tells her as he grabs his bag and ducks into the bathroom in the corner of the room. Pausing to observe himself in the mirror for a second, running his hand over his stubble, he shakes himself from his thoughts and makes haste in changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a plaid shirt not dissimilar to Emma's own before pulling on his work boots and stepping out of the bathroom. "We match."

"Only kinda," Emma tells him as she glances up from putting things into her school bag. "Mine is blue and yours is red."

"That's true." He glances at the bag and Emma's collection of things.

She shoves the new clothes into bag around her baby blanket that, when she sees his gaze, she shoves even deeper into her bag before placing the books on top. She swings the bag over her shoulder and plucks Nip from the bed to wedge him between her broken arm and her abdomen. "Can you tie my shoes? I got them on but I couldn't tie them."

"Of course," he replies and kneels down immediately to tie the sneakers. He notes how tight the canvas material is over the girl's feet and how it's pulled away from the rubber toe and he makes a note to buy her a new pair immediately. He'll get a stipend each month for taking care of Emma but it's unnecessary – his job at the animal rescue is more than enough to care for them both, certainly enough to buy Emma some new clothes before the money comes in. "The doctor said you could go back to school in a week. I think you'll like the school in Storybrooke."

"I like school no matter what," Emma tells him. When he looks up for an explanation, she sighs and rolls her eyes once more. "It's the only thing that stays the same."

He nods before shoulder his own bag and then taking hers off her. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Emma laughs and David mentally high fives himself. The nurse lets them sign the papers at the desk – it's one step closer to being out the door and Emma dances on the tips of her toes in anticipation as David signs all the necessary forms and collects the discharge papers and a prescription for the liquid pain killer for Emma. When he's done, Emma takes his hand and practically drags him out of the building with the case worker on his heels as they make their way across the parking lot to his truck.

"Let me help," he tells Emma who is too short to get into the cab with only one hand. He places both their bags in the middle of the truck and then turns to lift Emma up and place her on the booster seat that social services had provided before buckling her in. "There. Safe and sound."

Matilda steps in as David takes a step back to make sure Emma really is safe. "Call if you need anything, Emma."

"I will," Emma promises. "See you in a few weeks, Miss Honey."

The case worker nods and turns back to David as she shuts the door. "That goes for you too."

"Thank you," he tells her. "But I'm sure we'll be fine."

The ride back to Storybrooke takes longer than the ride to Augusta did but David chalks it up to the fact that he makes a specific stop at a larger town between the two cities in order to get Emma's prescription filled and to pick up some extra clothing for her – it's not much but it's like Christmas and her birthday combined for the eight year old who walks out with an assortment of tops, bottoms, and assorted underthings with two brand new books sitting on top. To tide her over, David had said about the books, until they were able to get to the library to get her own library card. She had, in an uncharacteristic moment, flung her good arm around his waist and buried her face into his side and David had stood in shock for a moment before placing a comforting hand between her shoulders.

When they arrive in Storybrooke, it's late into the afternoon and Emma's stomach is grumbling so David pulls into a parking spot at Granny's to pick them up something that will tide them over the last few hours until dinner – it's time for Emma to take some more medication anyway and she can't do that on an empty stomach. They take a seat in the corner booth and Emma's got the paperback he had helped her pick out at the small department store with her, perched against the edge of the table so she can turn the pages. "Bookworm," he teases gently as the waitress approaches. "Hey Ruby."

"Hey David," the girl tells him. "Who's this?"

"Ruby Lucas," he addresses her. "Meet Emma Swan. Em, this is my friend, Ruby, she and her grandma run this place."

"Hence the name Granny's," Ruby explains.

"Emma's my new foster placement," he explains. "We're here to get a snack to tide us over until dinner." He turns his gaze to Emma. "Whatever you want, Em. No cereal."

The little girl grins and puts her book down. "Can I get a grilled cheese please. And hot chocolate."

"Sure thing," Ruby tells her with a grin. "Cute kid."

"I can hear you," Emma replies. "I am not cute. I'm almost nine."

David laughs. "I'll have the same but with coffee." Emma gives him a look. "Hey, I gave up my breakfast coffee for you and I've been driving for hours. I'm having coffee."

"Whatever," Emma tells him. "It's gross."

"Go back to your book," David orders her playfully but isn't surprised when Emma follows orders, already sunken in to the new world inside the book, as Ruby leaves to place their orders. "We're going to have to replace those reading glasses that Miss Honey mentioned," David tells the bookworm. "Or you're going to go blind from all that reading you do."

"I will not."

"Not right away but if we don't get them replaced you will."

Emma sticks out her tongue as Ruby places a hot cocoa in front of her and a coffee in front of David. There's whipped cream on Emma's cocoa and it's piled up so high that Emma can barely see over it, making the girl grin, and it's sprinkled with brown stuff and a stick stuck in the side. "Cinnamon?"

"Do you not like it," Ruby asked. "Some people do and some people don't. I can get you a different one."

"I'll try it," Emma tells her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," and then Ruby is off in a blur of red clothing and dark hair.

The bell above the door jangles and Emma glances up to see a small woman in a dress and heels with a raven colored pixie cut step into the diner and promptly trip over the mat on the floor, spilling a folder of papers across the ground. "Crap," the woman whines before stooping to pick them up. "I am such a klutz."

"Mary Margaret, are you talking to yourself again," David teases as he slides out of the booth to help her pick things up.

"Oh," she gasps and glances up to see David; Emma watches the brilliant smile that breaks across the woman's face and wishes she could smile like that. "David! Hi."

"Hello," he tells her as he hands her a large stack of papers before helping her up. "Lucky you're here. I've got someone I want you to meet." He guides the small woman over to the table. "Mary Margaret Blanchard, this is Emma Swan – my new foster daughter. Emma, this is Miss Blanchard. She's a fourth grade teacher over at Storybrooke Elementary."

"Hi Miss Blanchard," Emma greets her and extends a small hand to shake the older woman's.

A spark of electricity jumps between their hands and they both pull back quickly. "I apologize, I must have picked up some static from the rug when I stumbled. It's lovely to meet you, Emma."

"Emma is going to be starting at the school next week," he tells her. "She just had surgery on her arm or she'd be starting tomorrow."

"Wow," Mary Margaret says as she perches on the edge of David's bench seat. "That's no fun. I hope your arm feels better soon. What grade are you in?"

"Third," Emma says quietly.

"But she reads like a college student," David brags, unbelievably proud of the little girl. "She's eight and finished _Swiss Family Robinson_ overnight."

"That's impressive," the teacher tells them and Emma blushes. "Do you read a lot, Emma?"

"Only when I'm breathing," she replies and the adults chuckle.

"I am thinking about seeing if she can be bumped up to fourth grade," David explains. "She's certainly smart enough for it."

Emma glanced up, wide eyed. "I could do that."

"I'm sure you can," David tells her.

"Well I would be delighted to have you in my class." She glances at her watch. "It was lovely to see you, David, and meet you, Emma, but I've got to go, I'm afraid. I just stopped by to drop off some things to Ruby and then I need to be going but maybe you two could join me for dinner later this week. A 'Welcome to Storybrooke' dinner for Emma once she's a bit more settled."

"Can we," Emma asks David. She's not sure what it is about Mary Margaret Blanchard but she likes her, wants to be liked by her. "Please, David. I'll take my medicine without whining."

"You'd do that anyway," David tells her. "But sure. We'll call you once she's settled."

"Sounds great," the teacher told them as she stood. "I'll see you both later."

"Bye Miss Blanchard," Emma calls after the teachers retreating form before turning to her foster father who is still staring. "I like her."

"Me too," David whispers and there's something in his tone that makes Emma quirk an eyebrow. "After we get you settled in your new room, what do you say we veg out in front of the TV and watch some movies tonight?"

"Like _Die Hard_," Emma asks.

David laughs. "I was thinking more like _The Little Mermaid_."

"I suppose that's acceptable."

"Well thank you for being so agreeable, princess."

Ruby brings their food by then and they're both so hungry that the conversation ceases as they dive into their food and don't come up once again until they hit table. Emma takes her medicine without complaint and chases it with the last of her cocoa, giggling over the whipped cream that makes a mustache over her top lip – declaring cinnamon an excellent addition to the drink. The little girl is so tired after the food has a chance to settle that, after paying the bill, David has to carry her out of the diner – Emma's cast covered arm crooked around his neck and she rests her head against his shoulder as he carries her. As they step out on the street, the clock in the clock tower chimes out loudly to signify that it's four o'clock in the afternoon and David pauses at the front bumper of his truck to look up in confusion before turning to Emma. "Funny. That's clock hasn't worked for as long as I can remember."


	3. Chapter 3

PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT ON THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE WHEN I REPLACE IT WITH THE REAL CHAPTER YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO LEAVE A REVIEW. I just wanted to let you all know that updates will be delayed until further notice as I'm at the hospital with my mom and she's in pretty critical condition – cancer sucks, can I get an amen? I won't say don't expect a post while I'm here because sometimes hospitals are conducive to my writing but currently I'm so exhausted that I cannot fathom eeking anything out. Thank you all for your patience and consideration.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys. Sorry for the shorter update but I just wanted to get something up because I know y'all have been waiting for a month now... If you read the authors note that was "chapter three" you'll know that I was at the hospital with my mom and that she wasn't in very good shape. On February 16th, my mom lost a thirteen month battle with a very rare type of cancer. It was a punch to the gut. She was my absolute best friend and moving forward without her has been so hard I can barely breathe some days. Especially because at the same time as all this was happening I found out I was homeless as well... I know, you all aren't asking for my sob story but if updates are few and far between please just know it's because I've had a lot I had to work through and am still trying to work through parts of it. Thank you all for your understanding. **

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing. **

* * *

_These bruises make for better conversation...  
_-_Train's Bruises_

* * *

Emma Swan is broken in ways that David Nolan is only just beginning to comprehend even though the child has been in his care for three days now. She's like a puzzle formed from shards of glass and he has to carefully piece her back together or he may just break her even further. The eight year old is boisterous and booming, laughter teeming up from the tips of her toes and bubbling past her lips, but all it takes is the accidental sharp noise of a plate in the bottom of the sink or the clearing of a scratch in his throat for her to become as small and as silent as a church mouse. He watches with pain in his heart as every little unavoidable action causes the girl to shrink back, to curl into herself so protectively. He's also learned that the hardest thing in the world to do is to get the eight year old to put down a book – he's never met such a tenacious reader before.

"Emma," he sighs her name and taps the white wall of her Converse. "You've got to put the book down or we're never making it to Mary Margaret's in time."

"Fine," the adolescent huffs and dog-ears her page in _Peter Pan_ before casting it beside her on the couch and standing, popping her back as she does. "Though I think Miss Blanchard would understand if we were two minutes late for the sake of Peter's adventures."

"I'm sure you're right," David acquiesces as he grabs the book and places it on the shelf above the sofa that is just out of the girl's reach even when she stands on the backing. "But it would still be rude and that's not the kind of first impression you want to make on your new teacher, is it?"

"Technically it wouldn't be a first impression," Emma argues as she struggles to get her cast into her jacket. "We already met. At the diner. And she fell flat on her face. I, however, was completely charming."

He growls her name playfully and pulls the jacket from her grasp to right it on her. "Get your butt to the truck."

"Fine." David Nolan hates that word: _fine_, and the way only an eight year old can say it with such simultaneous sass and disdain – as if the adult they're speaking to is the stupidest and most inferior person on the planet. He takes a deep and steadying breath, deciding this is a battle he'd rather not pick at this moment and instead nudges his foster daughter towards the front door.

Emma pushes her way out the front door and down the front steps to the truck that sits at the end of the sidewalk. David catches up with her and scoops her up, tucking her into her seat and belting her in before rounding the truck to get in himself. "We've got to make one quick stop on our way."

"What for," the blond inquires.

"Flowers," David tells her.

Emma rolls her eyes so dramatically that David swears he can practically hear them move. "You mean I could have read another chapter?"

"No because we have to pick up flowers," he counters.

"Why? It's not like it's a date – you don't bring your kid, foster or otherwise, on a date."

He laughs and shakes his head, trying to ignore the sweating in his palms that wishes otherwise because Emma's right – it's not a date. "It's called etiquette, Em."

"Well I ain't got time for that when there's more books to read."

"And you don't have time for language like that when you read as much as you do," David tells her, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "With as much as you read there is no reason for you to speak so improperly."

"Sorry," Emma mumbles but she stretches the word into two syllables in a way that makes David grit his teeth. He knew this was coming – Matilda Honey had warned him that the eight year old was far from an easy case and that she would push his buttons, see how much he would take, because she was so used to just being foisted off to the next home when she became too much of an inconvenience. That wasn't happening this time, he had decided, and Emma would just have to adjust. But then he watches her draw her legs up to her chest and the way her head cants against the window while he drives, pulling away, and he wishes that maybe he hadn't pushed quite so far so fast.

At the stop sign, he turns to face her as he crooks a finger under her chin to make he meet his eyes. "You have a brilliant mind, Emma Swan, and it would be a terrible thing to waste."

"Thank you," she whispers and there are tears pooling under green eyes that make David's heart skip a beat.

"You can read two chapters when we get home," David tells her. "If it's not too late and you're on your best behavior at Miss Blanchard's."

"Yes, sir."

The ride to the flower shop finishes in companionable silence; David counts it as a win when Emma's legs unfurl and she faces him instead of idly staring out the window. Parking in front of the shop, David helps the little girl down and is unsurprised as she tucks close to his side as they make their way into new territory; one of Emma's fingers hooks into his belt loop and he carefully drapes an arm around her shoulder to keep them moving along. Moe French is behind the counter arguing with Mister Gold about something or another but he spies Moe's daughter, Belle, among the orchids and gives her a small smile and wave – he's known Belle for as long as he can remember and she's always been so kind to him. "Emma," he draws the attention of the child. "This is Belle French. Belle, this is Emma Swan – my foster daughter."

"Hello," Belle greets her as she plucks a buttercup flower off a nearby plant and kneels to hand it to the girl. "For you, sweetheart."

"Thank you," Emma tells her politely and Belle fights back a cringe as the girl crushes the flower to her chest.

"Belle's father owns the flower shop," David explains. "Belle only works here part time – she's actually the town librarian."

Belle smiles. "Do you like to read, Emma?"

"Oh yes," Emma tells her. "I love to read."

"What do you like to read?"

"Everything," the word escapes Emma's mouth on a breath and her eyes are wide with the possibility of endless wonder, a new library to explore.

"We're on our way to dinner with Mary Margaret but I told Emma we'd stop by the library later this week and get her a library card," the foster father explains. "She's tearing through every book I can find in my house."

"I'll be awaiting your visit," Belle tells the girl with a genuine smile before curling her lips into a smirk as she turns to face David. "Dinner with Mary Margaret Blanchard, David?"

"Belle," he growls her name in warning. Perhaps he and Mary Margaret have been flirting around a relationship for years now but he's not about to take any flack from the librarian about it – especially not in front of Emma. "Emma's going to be moving into Mary Margaret's class at school and so she thought it would be nice to have us over."

"Nice indeed," the librarian teases. "Lovely even, one could say."

"We'll take a bouquet of lilies," he counters with a sigh as Emma watches the adults banter, green eyes flitting back and forth.

"Well, well," Mister Gold happens upon the trio. "Who is this lovely little lady, Mister Nolan?"

Belle rolls her eyes. "I'll go get those lilies."

"My name is Emma," Emma tells the man as her spine straightens and her chin raises. David swells with pride a bit – Mister Gold is likely the most feared man in town and Emma doesn't shirk away as he expected her to but rather extends a hand to greet him. "Emma Swan. Mister Nolan is my new foster father."

Mister Gold pauses for a long moment before his face relaxes into something akin to joy. "Emma, you say? What a lovely name, dearie. You must be the teddy bear recipient."

"You know Nip?" Emma tucks into his side then; she was bold longer than David expected but now the eight year old felt a deep need to hide. "David brought him to me in the hospital."

"Mister Gold owns a shop here in town," the man explains as he scoops the little girl up and can't help but feel a bit of pride as Emma Swan trusts him to protect her. She wraps her cast covered arm around his neck and leans her head against his shoulder and he drops a kiss to her temple in return. "I bought Nip off him when I finished signing the papers to be a foster father."

"Oh."

Belle approaches them then with a beautiful bouquet of white lilies and she extends them to David. "On the house – daddy said to thank you again for taking such good care of our pups."

"Of course," he tells her with a thankful nod. "We'll be off then. Don't want to keep Miss Blanchard waiting."

As they walk away, David hears Mister Gold murmur to Belle, "What a lovely little family."

The ride to Mary Margaret Blanchard's apartment is a quick one – in fact, if David hadn't been sure that Emma would be exhausted before the night was over, they could have made a walk of it. Storybrooke is the kind of town built for that – most days cars were an extraneous luxury as one can walk most anywhere necessary. When he parks, Emma has perked up once more and is bouncing in her seat as she waits for David to come and help her out of the truck. Once her feet are on the sidewalk, he kneels and extends the flowers to her – she's tucked the buttercup from Belle into the braid that David had put her hair in after a bath that morning. "Do you want to give these to Miss Blanchard for me?"

"Afraid she'll think it's a date," Emma teases.

"It's not a date, sassy one." He gently boops her on the head with the bouquet.

The eight year old snatches the bouquet from him and then once again tucks herself close to her side – Emma Swan, the walking contradiction. She longed to be independent and brave but mostly she was terrified of the world around her and wanted desperately to hide herself in the safety and shelter that was David Nolan. It was difficult to make their way up the stairs to the loft apartment with Emma practically glued to her foster father's side but they manage and knock on the teacher's door just two minutes after their designated arrival time. Mary Margaret answers the door in an apron with a smile. "Hello, you two!"

"Hi," Emma greets her shyly as she steps away from David long enough to extend to the flowers to her teacher. "For you. They're from David but this isn't a date so he's making me give them to you."

"Emma," David groans her name and bangs his head woefully against the door frame.

Mary Margaret laughs and takes the flowers, sniffing them as she offers David a shy smile. "Thank you, Emma... and David. They're beautiful." She steps away from the door and waves them in. "Come in and make yourselves at home – dinner is just about finished. Do you like spaghetti, Emma?"

"I love it," Emma tells her, wide eyed and happy – once more blossoming under the dark haired woman's attention. "Can I help do anything?"

"Would you like to stir the sauce," the teacher offers as she closes the door behind them and leads the way into the kitchen so she can retrieve a vase from under the sink.

"Sure."

The teacher pulls a chair over from the table and helps the eight year old stand on the seat so she can stir the sauce. "What are you reading right now?"

"_Peter Pan_," Emma tells her as she stirs the tomato sauce intently.

David leans against the counter and watches the way the two of them interact – he's not sure if Mary Margaret is that good with every child she teaches or if Emma's just that special but there's something magical about watching the two of them together. "I had to pry it out of her hands so we could get here on time."

"It's good," Emma protests.

Mary Margaret laughs. "I have trouble putting down a good book in order to get places on time too. Do you like fairy tales, Emma?"

"Sure," she replies with a shrug. "What I've read of them anyway."

"I've got a book that I'll let you borrow," the teacher tells her as she scoots Emma over so she can pull the garlic bread from the oven. "It's the old fairy tales but they've been rewritten – twisted a bit. Sort of a 'what would happen after happily ever after' kind of story."

"Cool!"

Mary Margaret smiles. "I think that sauce has been stirred to perfection, Miss Swan. Why don't you hop down and take a seat with David. I'll plate all this up and we can dive in. Do you like lots of sauce or a little?"

Emma hops down from the chair and grins up at her teacher. "A lot. Please!"

"Of course." Miss Blanchard nudges her toward the table that has been set for three and Emma happily takes the seat next to David as the teacher begins to plate the food. "And for you, David?"

"Just a little," David tells her with a smile. "Thank you for having us over."

"Yeah," Emma tells her. "Thank you!"

"Thank you both for joining me," she counters as she brings over the plates for both of them before returning for her own. "It can get awfully lonely being here by myself – of course I have my kids at school and Ruby's a good friend but it's nice to have people over on occasion. It can get lonely being by yourself too much."

"I agree," David tells her as he fills water glasses for all of them from the pitcher on the table.

"Well, you don't have to be lonely no more, Miss Blanchard," Emma interjects. "Or you, David. Any time we get lonely we can all just have dinner together."

Mary Margaret grins and so does David. "That," the teacher tells her pupil. "Is a brilliant idea, Miss Swan."

"Thanks," Emma tells her. "I've been known to have those on occasion."


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize both for the weight and the brevity of this chapter. The last three weeks of March were devoted to taking a trip and allowing myself to heal after all the crap that has happened since I first left you all that a/n in chapter three. Upon return from my trip, I immediately had to delve into a new job because money is a cruel necessity of life. Anyway, that hasn't left much time for writing. I originally intended this to be a longer chapter but I'm currently battling another round of bronchitis and my brain capacity is nil. Okay, enough excuses... Thank you all for reading and for all the kind reviews oyu have left me. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

_Somebody told me that this is the place,  
Where everything's better and everything's safe  
-Toad the Wet Sprocket's Walk on the Ocean;_

* * *

David Nolan sneaks quietly up the stairs in the early morning light with a plate of pancakes in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other; it's Emma's first day of school and even if she's completely fine with starting a new grade at a new school two months into the school year David thinks breakfast in bed might make the morning a little easier for the eight year old. He nudges the cracked open door until it gently thunks against the wall behind as he steps into Emma's room; the drapes are drawn and everything is cast in the dim light of an overcast morning in Maine, the only thing visible of the child is the wild golden curls that pool atop her pillow and her left leg from the knee down that have kicked back the edge of the covers. He smiles and places the plate and glass on the bedside table before gently nudging Emma's leg back under the covers so he can take a seat beside her on the bed, gently brushing the hair back from her face that is burrowed into her pillows. "Emma," he croons her name. "Time to rise and shine, morning glory."

"No," she protests as she raises a hand to rub at her nose. "Sleeping, Da'id."

His heart skitters at the sleepy slurring of his first name; he's fairly certain that Emma Swan will never call him 'dad' but he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't already thinking about adoption papers and a day in the future when she might just be willing to use that three letter word in regards to him. He smiles and pokes her nose with his finger. "Come on, Emma. I made you breakfast in bed and if you wake up now then you might have enough time to read another chapter in Miss Blanchard's book before we need to leave for school."

"Will you read to me," she asks as she sits up, slowly stretching her cast covered arm that she had mistakenly rolled over on during the night. "My eyes are still asleep."

"Yes, goofy girl," he relents. He's pretty sure there's nothing the blond could ask him for that he wouldn't move heaven and earth to acquire for her. "I'll read to you if you get started on those pancakes, okay? Then you've got to brush your teeth and put on your uniform with no complaints."

"Fine," Emma whines. "Do I gotta wear that stupid skirt though?"

"Yes."

She wrinkles her nose. "Ugh. Fine. I'll wear the skirt and brush my teeth but you're braiding my hair."

"Deal." David extends his pinky to her and she curls her own around his and they shake on it before he plucks the book from the bedside table and Emma ravenously digs into her breakfast – only pausing slightly to roll her eyes at the banana-berry-bacon smiley face that sits on top the short stack.

Mary Margaret's book thrills the child and she listens with eyes wide open as he recites the twisted tale of Prince Charming and Snow White who are awaiting the arrival of their princess with the threat of a curse from the Evil Queen looming over their head. David finds himself sucked into the story just like the little girl and before he knows it the clock is pushing toward eight and they're going to have to rush if they're going to make it to the school on time for Emma's first day – luckily he had the forethought to let his boss know that he was going to be a little late that morning, no way was he doing anything less than walking Emma all the way to the classroom.

"Time to get ready," he tells her as she finishes the last bit of juice in her glass and she looks like she's about to protest before she remembers her promise and flings back the covers, immediately rolling out of bed and making for the bathroom to brush her teeth. David pulls the uniform out of her closet and her saddle shoes out from under the edge of her bed, making sure that her backpack is fully stocked for her first day but everything is perfect just like it had been the night before. Emma flits back into the room on the tips of her bare toes and spins around before giving him a big smile and he gives it an appraising look as she blows some minty morning breath in his direction. "Good job, Em. Here's your shirt and skirt – go put them on and then I'll help you get the sweater on over your cast."

"Yes, sir." She accepts the articles and once again dashes out of the room.

When she returns, her stark white polo shirt is tucked into the waistband of her plaid skirt that wafts around her knees as she flits into the room; school regulations said it could be hemmed up a few inches and David knew how to sew well enough that he could have done so but he felt like tomboy Emma would be more comfortable if she didn't have to worry so much about sitting properly so her skirt laid appropriately. He held the sweater out and helped ease it over the cast that still had another three weeks before it could be removed. "Remember that I gave a bottle of your pain medication to the school nurse when I went into register you? If your arm starts hurting at all you just tell Miss Blanchard and she'll let you go take some, okay?"

"Okay," Emma sighs. "David?"

"Emma," he asks in return as he turns her so he can start the braid that she requested.

"Do you think..." She hesitates and crosses her arms over her chest. "Do you think the kids will like me here? At my last school the only people who talked to me were the grown-ups and even then they didn't talk much – except for the librarian, she was really nice."

"I think that the other kids will like you just fine," he promised as he tied off the braid and helped her button the sweater before tweaking her nose. "But to get friends, Emma, you're gonna have to put your books down every once in awhile and maybe try talking first."

"I can do that," Emma tells him with her chin raised high. "I can totally do that."

"I know you can do that," he tells her with a confident smile. "I wouldn't have asked you to do it if I didn't think you were capable."

The blond takes his advice with a nod and then grabs her backpack from the floor beside her bed and slings it over her shoulder before she pulls on his wrist. "Come on! We can't be late for my first day of school, David – what would Mary Margaret think? We don't even have flowers this time."

"Let the flower thing go, Emma," he pleads with a laugh as he allows her to pull him out of her room, down the stairs, and only barely pauses long enough for him to grab his keys and wallet before they're out the front door. The school is only two streets over and down a couple of blocks and so they walk peacefully through the early morning streets of Storybrooke. Emma doesn't release his hand as they walk but instead uses it to twirl around like a ballerina as they walk with her backpack thumping against her spine in time to her happy footfall. David relishes the freedom that Emma exhibits; she's often so walled off that he can't get a clear read on her emotions but there was no doubt that Emma Swan was very excited to start school, especially in Miss Blanchard's class.

The teacher is waiting in the schoolyard when they arrive and Emma assertively makes her way through the crowds of children rushing into the school with just minutes before the bell was to ring in order to greet her teacher. Nearly bouncing on her toes, she grins up at Miss Blanchard with absolute pure enthusiasm. "Good morning, Miss Blanchard!"

"Good morning, Emma," the teacher tells her with a big smile. "Are you ready to start school?"

"Oh yes," Emma tells her breathlessly. "David and I have been working on those extra study sheets you sent over. I've got a whole stack of them for you."

"That's great," she tells her pupil. "I am sure you did your best on them. I'll look them over at lunch." She then casts her eyes over to the man who is smiling over their interaction. "Good morning, David."

"Good morning, Mary Margaret," he replies with a smile.

The final warning bell rings and the teacher looks down at her student. "Emma, would you like to walk with me to class?"

"I would," Emma agrees. Then, unexpectedly and uncharacteristically, she launches herself into David Nolan's arms and hugs him tightly as she presses a kiss to his cheek. "Bye, David. See you later."

"Bye Emma," he tells her as he squeezes her back and revels in the free flowing affection the girl is imparting on him. "You have a good day, okay? I'll be right here at two-thirty and we'll go get milkshakes and grilled cheese at Granny's."

"Okay," she agrees and shimmies out of the embrace before interlacing the fingers of her good hand with one of Mary Margaret Blanchard's and skips beside her teacher as she is led into the school.

David watches the little girl until she fades from his view when she and her beloved teacher turn down the hallway toward the fourth grade classroom before he forces himself to turn on his heel and head off to work even though he would love nothing more than to hangout in front of the school all day just in case Emma needed him – he was sure Sheriff Graham would just love getting that phone call.


	6. Chapter 6

**I apologize so very much for the wait; I started a new job that has me so tired by the time I get home most nights it's all I can do to shower and crawl into bed let alone thinking about writing and then my uncle passed away and just... it hasn't been a fun few weeks. So I apologize so very much for the wait and also for the brevity of this chapter. Hopefully I'll get back into long chapters soon. Thank you all for your sweet words. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything and all mistakes are my own. **

* * *

_through the wind and the rain,  
she stands hard as a stone,  
in a world that she can't rise above,  
but her dreams give her wings,  
and she flies to a place where she's loved,  
concrete angel...  
-Martina McBride;_

* * *

Emma Swan has been in her class for four days and everything has gone smoothly that Mary Margaret Blanchard thinks just maybe the mid-year transition of a younger child into her established fourth grade class might go off without a hitch. Of course it is then, just as she's begun to relax, that it all gets shot to hell with the shattering of a glass on the tile of the classroom floor. They had been working on an art project for the last forty-five minutes before lunch when Paige accidentally knocks the mason jar full of paint brushes off the corner of her group of desks and it shatters on the floor. Before the teacher can even begin to react, eight year old Emma Swan is under her desk, curled into a ball, and screaming at the top of her lungs while the class full of nine and ten year old children all stare at their younger classmate. Unsure of how else to proceed, Mary Margaret dismisses the class to lunch a few minutes early and directs them around the broken glass before she crouches in front of the petite blond and gives her a small broken smile as she reaches out to gently grasp Emma's uncasted forearm.

"Emma," she addresses her. "It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. You're safe."

She watches as Emma blinks and seems to slowly snap out of whatever state the noise sent her into; the girl's face slowly moves from fear and sadness to shame. "Miss Blanchard?"

"That's right," she tells her. "You're okay, Emma."

"I'm sorry," the child whispers as tears pool under her eyes. "I'm sorry. Please don't tell David. Please. I don't want to be sent back."

"Emma," Mary Margaret breathes her name. "Honey, it's okay. You've done nothing wrong and no one is going to send you back."

"They always do!" Emma pushes back further under the desk. "They always send me back when I screw up and I always screw up. Please don't tell David, Miss Blanchard. He's the first good home that I have had in a really long time."

"Emma Swan," the teacher says her name firmly and pulls her from under the desk, gently but firmly, before wrapping her in a hug. "I'm going to let you in on a secret, okay? I've known David Nolan for a very long time – practically my whole life – and I've never seen him love anything or anyone the way that he loves you, sweetheart. He wants to give you a real home, Emma, and being scared because of bad things that happened in your past isn't going to make him send you away."

"It's not?" The little girl pulls back from the hug and dips her head so her blond hair curtains her face as she twists the toe of her sneaker into the floor.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Emma." She gently crooks a finger under the girl's chin. "What would make you feel better right now?"

"David," Emma whispers.

"I'll call him," the teacher tells her and gives her a soft smile. "Why don't you go get your lunch from your cubby and eat at your desk? I'll clean up this glass and call David."

"Okay."

It takes less than a minute for Mary Margaret to sweep up the broken glass and dump it in the trash can but by the time she settles at her desk Emma Swan is already tucked into her lunch – a lunch that makes her smirk, David is taking to fatherhood extremely well but he can't quite shake the bachelor lifestyle and so the girl is eating a congealed grilled cheese and cold hashbrowns that look like leftovers from breakfast at Granny's. She dials the number for the animal shelter and waits as the secretary connects her to the phone closest to David's work station. "Storybrooke Animal Shelter, David Nolan speaking."

"Hey David," she greets him. "It's Mary Margaret. There's been an incident with Emma-"

"Is she okay?"

The panic in his voice makes the teacher's heart clench. "Physically she's fine, I promise. A fellow student knocked a glass off a desk and the noise sent Emma into what I think was a panic attack... Her screams, David..." She's careful to keep her voice quiet so Emma can't hear across the room. "She came out of it fairly quickly but she was afraid that if I told you that you'd send her back. I think she needs to see you."

"I can be there in ten minutes."

–

David's fairly certain that he breaks at least half a dozen laws as he races his truck across the town and makes it to the elementary school in just under seven minutes before he sprints in the front door and hastily checks in at the front desk before taking off for the wing that holds the upper grades. Emma is sitting at her desk, picking at her lunch that he threw together in haste this morning, when he slips into the classroom. Her blue eyes light up for just a second before her face falls again, as if she remembers why he's here, when she sees him. Sparing a quick glance at the teacher who gives him a nod, he makes his way across the room to kneel in front of her. "Hey kid."

"Hi David," she whispers.

"Sorry for your greasy lunch," he tells her as he tweaks her nose. "I'll pack you a better one tomorrow."

"It's okay," she promises. "I like it. You don't have to do anything special for me. I can pack my own lunches from now on so I don't bother you."

"Emma," he breathes her name. "Stop."

"Please don't send me back," she pleads with tears in he eyes. "Please, David. Please. Please. Please. This is the first place I have ever been safe. I won't screw up again. I promise. I'll be good. I'll be so good. Don't send me back. Please don't send me back."

His own tears are starting to fall as he pulls her out of the desk chair and into his arms as he kisses her head. "Emma Swan, you listen to me. I am not sending you back – ever. No matter how badly you think you screw up, okay?"

"Promise," Emma whimpers in his ear as her arms wrap tightly around his neck – as if she loosens her grip and he might just disappear.

"Promise," he swears. "Wanna tell me why that broken glass scared you so badly?"

"No," Emma protests before sighing. "But I can."

"Only if you're ready to share it."

She pulls back from the embrace and perches on the edge of her chair, picking at an invisible thread on her jeans. "A couple homes ago... It was a bad place. They were really mean, David. And they had kids of their own and those kids hated me. We were supposed to do the dishes, me and the oldest boy. He broke a glass – it was an accident but the dad there heard it and came running, already mad. He said that I broke it. I got the belt. He made me count every single one and when I lost count he started again."

"Oh Em..." He wants to rage – he wants to kill anyone who would dare harm a hair on this sweet girl's head. "So when the glass broke today?"

"I don't know. I was just kind of back there. In that place. Until Miss Blanchard brought me back."

David nods and pulls her into his arms. "No one is ever going to hurt you like that again, Emma. I promise. They'll have to go through me."

"And me," Mary Margaret tells them as she places a protective palm on the back of the blond's head. "Why don't you go home with David, Emma? I'll come over when I get done with class today and we can go over the work for the rest of the day then."

"You'd do that," David asks.

"Of course," Mary Margaret tells him. "Unless you need to go back to work."

"No," he replies. "I took the rest of the day off."

"Great," she tells him. "You can make dinner and Miss Emma and I will go over a couple of math and history work sheets."

"Will you stay for story-time," Emma asks her teacher.

Mary Margaret smiles. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."


End file.
